


Travellin' Man

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Gavin likes to go on holiday, Immortal Fake AH Crew, M/M, it stresses the fuck out of Geoff, look its just gay, solo Vagabond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21936316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They should be used to it by now, Gavin’s never been good at being in one place for too long. He gets wound up by routine, hates to see the same surroundings every day. Everyone notices when it’s time, they’ll see the way he’ll glare out a glass wall or get itchy about just needing to graffiti something. When he’s been alive as long as he has, routines make the centuries draw out until they’re unrecognisable.orSometimes people just need to leave.
Relationships: Gavin Free/Ryan Haywood
Comments: 3
Kudos: 77





	Travellin' Man

Gavin drifts in a way that isn’t exactly recognisable. It starts with glassy eyes, just sat on a sofa with a garish dressing gown, his mind drifting between ideas that never escape past his lips as the normal ones do. He’ll let his stubble get too scruffy, let the roots of his dye job show and then he’s gone. 

Sometimes there’s a note, a mess of handwriting left on his bed. Sometimes there’s a leftover bag, hurriedly packed and then forgotten like it wasn’t that important after all. Sometimes there’s nothing, just a bed lacking it’s Golden Boy. 

They should be used to it by now, Gavin’s never been good at being in one place for too long. He gets wound up by routine, hates to see the same surroundings every day. Everyone notices when it’s time, they’ll see the way he’ll glare out a glass wall or get itchy about just needing to graffiti something. When he’s been alive as long as he has, routines make the centuries draw out until they’re unrecognisable. 

They’ll never know where he’s gone until he’s back. He’ll bring back a fridge magnet or some memento to place somewhere, it reminds him he can always go away again - no place is ever permanent. They’re almost like trophies, all these places that he’s seen, all the countries he finally has the opportunity to explore - these places where he doesn’t have to hide from the police or worry about the passerby's being his enemies. He’s free to exist outside of his home and yet he never feels complete when he is. 

— 

Geoff worries every time, naturally. Gavin was his son, maybe not in a literal sense but when he’d seen this kid on a street corner (not knowing he was almost as old as Geoff was) that could barely handle a knife, he took him back to his apartment.

Back then Geoff had nothing, didn’t like to tie himself to anything - everything was temporary in his mind, nothing was made like he was, nothing would last forever. His place was run down, his only possession left was a crown that had once been his. The gold plating that had once gleaned in the light of his palace was now dated with grime, marred like a relic that would be found near his father’s burial site. History had forgotten him, naturally. No one remembered the good people, they were sadists who pleasured in others misfortunes. The past was a cruel taunting mistress that had left him behind. 

All Geoff ever felt attached to now was his crew, the immortals that had wrapped themselves into a lifestyle that only centuries of loss could put them into. He hated when Gavin went, he didn’t want Gavin to be swept away in the tides of time. 

— 

There was something about leaving that appealed to Gavin. This pull to different places that turned his skin to honey, the gold shine that he adored day in day out. 

Gavin never used to like gold, back when he was noble it was silver. The silverware sparkled silver under the old candlelights that guided him through the mansion he grew up. Silver was once the best you could get, the most elegant way to flaunt your wealth. It wasn’t until he stopped ageing that he couldn’t stand the sight of it. 

There had been a maid, a woman from a street corner (or was it the invasion? He hated to remember.) Skittish and clumsy, too superstitious, some would have said she was a witch herself. She had noticed when his skin stopped ageing, the wrinkles that adorn people’s eyes weren’t present nor the creasing around his mouth. 

By the age of 35, Gavin still looked 17. The maid was too observant for her own good. Stabbed him with a silver knife thinking he was some greater being that could actually be killed, he laughed while it burned when the blood escaped his mouth and the light was disappearing behind his eyes. All he did was call her a fool, when his body passed (not him, never him. Not like the maid thought) he took to scaring her. He’d walk the fields in front of the servants quarters, a sword swinging across the grass while blood oozed out from under his mouth (it was jam he’d stolen from his friend's house, but under the pitch of night your brain loves to play tricks.) 

Eventually, she passed as mortals do. Her last breaths pleading for “the man she killed” to not follow her to whatever lies beyond. Although he doesn't believe much in it now, he hoped she’d rot in hell for trying to murder someone who had yet to wrong an innocent life. 

Silver was no good now, a life of nobility he had once cherished until he was forced to fake his death. All he would've done is get killed again, no one knows how many lives they have until they’re done with. 

So he turned to gold. He used to think it was tacky, these items that were plated and made to look as though they belonged in the higher classes. He looked at the gold frames that housed his portraits, the gold doorknobs in his new home. He doesn't know where his mind changed. Doesn't know where the hatred stopped and the love started, the lines had blurred along the way and left Gavin with only gold to cherish. 

Maybe he only cherished what he had left. 

\--

Ryan wasn’t in the crew, Ryan detested being in anything like that. They involved too much trust, faith in other people. It was difficult to believe other people would be loyal through and through. Money changes people, other people change other people. Humans were awful things, careless and greedy creatures created by a being to leech off the earth before their time passed. It would almost be funny if it wasn't so pathetic. 

So Ryan was for hire only, no strings attached with any of the people he worked for. He didn't care for their reasoning, he needed cash and he needed a reason to still exist. He didn’t want the ties that bound everyone together, the invisible threads that wrapped around their wrists, that marred people with false hope and fake promises. These people were connected by something so breakable and Ryan had no choice but to remove himself from that lifestyle. He didn’t care that his life was forever, didn’t care that his face was a permanent stain on this world he was born into. Ryan didn’t want to leave again. He hated the way that his respawns had him pack his bags, there was too much curiosity now, too many people willing to poke him until they figured out his ‘problem’, he didn't want to be sold to a scientist because a low-level rat cannot keep their mouth shut. 

But still, Ryan worked in the line of fire. He killed for a paycheck and never backed down from a target. Some of them across the world, some of them in his apartment building. He didn’t care for their names and stories, their stories that would be forgotten within a few years. Mortals were nothing but these blemishes to the planet, temporary and easy to scrub out yet still as ugly in his eyes. They crowded his space and their appearances burnt into his eyes. These little worthless things that only served for a short time, these little moles that crawled into places that weren’t theirs to see, these little petty things that decided the wolves were a fun place to play. 

God mortals were the worst. 

\-- -- -- 

He’d left, like always. A scribbled ‘be back soon’ lay on his bed, the sheets weren’t made and there was marker that had stained his mattress cover and yet all he wanted to do was get away. This time it was a plane, a first-class boarding so he could drink to his heart's content as he travelled across the world. 

He was thinking Spain, golden sunlight to brown his skin in just a way that maybe he could lay off the fake tan for a bit. Where his golden sunglasses wouldn't be out of place and he could blend in like a tourist. All he wanted to do was lay in a sun lounger with a sex on the beach while the world passed him by. 

Maybe this time it would be a week, possibly even a month. Maybe he’d stay in the same hotel, maybe he’d move. Maybe he’d end up having a change of heart and going to Rome. All these maybes that his brain was struggling to account for. He just wanted a break, some time away from all the blood and drugs that had suddenly seemed to suffocate him. 

For all he knew there was still a line of coke on his nose, ecstasy in his system. He forgot what he did now, just let life take over, let the euphoria drag him into his own little place away from reality. Let these little bundles of happiness take him away from the disappointment on Jack’s face when she sees him walk into the club bathroom with a small baggy, let him drift away slowly to forget the sadness on Geoff’s face. He didn’t enjoy how he inflicted his issues on others, Gavin enjoyed forgetting, it was the only thing his centuries of existence had told him how to do. Escapes could be physical or mental, drugs or planes, alcohol and trains. Sometimes you need to leave life behind - remember who you are before it all crumbles around you. 

\-- -- -- 

Madrid was too hot for leather jackets. Ryan was dying, his mask was hanging off his belt but the sweat was dripping off him in buckets. His jeans were clinging uncomfortably to his thighs and all he wanted to do was get back to his hotel room, the hit was over with and now he was stuck in Spain for the next 3 days. 

He had already been there for over a day, finding a man who owed some gang or another money. Ryan tried to not get tied up in explanations, these petty deals that had gone wrong and meant someone needed to be taken out. Ryan had not cared about anyone for a few centuries now, the last person he’d cared for was when Georgia had been colonised, a man of few words who Ryan had befriended, they had bonded over activities that people would now consider unsavoury, sometimes he did too. Ryan was a killer, but now he was a killer with purpose. Back then it was a game, deaths weren’t significant, they were a statistic, a statistic that was fun to play with. Ryan caused a lot of death and destruction, different aliases for different areas, he travelled and murdered with glee, a glee that had given him a reputation. 

But he changed. Not much, but no life was free anymore. Ryan didn’t like to consider life as having value, but they weren’t fun when they were only his to control. Other people could call the shots, other people could interfere with this sick pleasure he’d taken an interest in. 

Maybe it wasn’t so much that Ryan had become greedy, maybe he was just sick of trying to live his life alone. 

\-- -- -- 

Gavin had ended up in a bar, as usual. There was a pink lady in his hand courtesy of someone having shown interest him. The bartender had overdone the gin, the perfect cocktail to get him slipping out of his existence. He still had his sunglasses perched on his head, his oversized LXV shirt was slipping off his shoulder slightly, a little patch of honey skin that seemed to have some of the men dipping their hands into their grubby wallets to please him. If only they knew he could probably rent out this bar if he wanted to. Words did wonders on people who don’t expect someone with a golden syrup tongue, some people’s hearts lay bare on the table when they’re exposed to what they desire. Money talks, but so does Gavin. 

All these men were boring him anyway. Men on business trips, clearly married if the skin left untanned on their left hand was anything to go by. Possibly recently divorced but they’re also awful to sleep with, much too sappy and definitely not rough enough. They were sat in business casual, whiskey on the rocks in their hands while they tried to woo a pretty boy back to their hotel room with free drinks and small talk. Gavin just wanted a man tonight, all rough hands and muscles, someone to hold him down in his bed and be gone by the next morning. 

It was times like this he missed the seedy Los Santos bars. The downtown bars where he knew the coke was plentiful and he’d eventually bed some criminal or another. He preferred the men with scars, the ones with stories that he didn’t have time for, these people with hardly any life left for them. He enjoyed nights where his nose was bleeding and his eyes were bloodshot and he knew that no one would remember his face within 5 years, their lives were too short to remember their random hookups, some of them so off their face they didn’t know they were sleeping with their city’s Golden Boy, seeing triple and off their face on ecstasy. The perfect concoction for an explosive orgasm and a forgettable night. 

Then someone walked in, almost recognisable, almost familiar. Nothing spectacular to most, his hair was tied back in an almost ponytail and he was wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans. Gavin knew though, his forearm had a bullet scar, his face withered with age in a way he’d only seen in Los Santos. Someone so close to home all these miles away. All Gavin could do was raise his glass. 

The man must have known him too, for all he did was smirk and walk off to a booth, out of sight. Yet there was something in the air, a mutual agreement. Something that screamed knowing yet not. A man Gavin could trust to not send a message home. 

The only understanding found between 2 people so far from home. 

\-- -- -- 

Gavin got bored with Madrid after 2 weeks. The sights were lovely, the sounds even better but now they were getting too close together. His walks were no longer filled with confusion, the man at the coffee shop down the road knew his face, the staff knew his breakfast order by the time he sat down. It was time to leave, he wanted to stay in Europe, it was always so rich with history, things to do, people to see, food to try. It was fun to remember these countries as they were and then see them as they are. Gavin may not have been alive when the Roman empire collapsed but he saw the way the countries changed, enjoyed the way he had seen monarchies rise and fall, all these countries that had never existed when he was away with his father to do business. 

Gavin wanted to go somewhere he hadn’t set foot in since he was a lot younger. When the enlightenment had barely begun when it was rife with political instability and new artwork. Italy, when he was barely alive, was fun, going to see his grandparents with his father, barely a teenager and so full of hope. He hadn’t been to Rome since they died, he had seen Venice, explored Sicily but Rome was somewhat special. For a while it had been too sentimental, his origins were in Rome, not that anyone knew that but him. He knew he needed to back at some point, what better time when he was trying to get away from who he was. 

\-- -- -- 

Geoff was growing worried again. Gavin hadn’t been back for 3 weeks, they were down a hacker for one of their heists and all their deals had been left to Jeremy. The last he’d seen from Gavin he was at the colosseum, his beard hadn’t been shaved and his golden sunglasses were covering his eyes. He doesn’t know when he’s coming back, most of his clothes were at the penthouse but Geoff knew that Gav would just buy more if he ran out of clean stuff to wear- to that kid money didn’t matter in the least. Better clothes than coke. 

Geoff just wanted to see Gavin again and tell him to give him some notice before he disappeared again. 

Gavin was lucky they weren’t doing a bank heist until closer to Christmas. 

\-- -- -- 

Rome was beautiful, the buildings were high, the sun was beating down on the city’s paths yet the humidity hadn’t hit properly yet. He had seen the sites, visited the Vatican and didn’t have much left to do. He had stopped by a cafe in a back street, not quite full but not too empty to make him think that there was something wrong with it. He only wanted to sit down and eat, drink a double espresso and watch as people trawled the little alleys that had plagued the city since he was a child. Everything so winding and narrow, a lovely little place to explore. 

He had a few hours until he could check into his hotel too, a small thing that he had decided was ideal, It lacked a pool which disappointed him but beggars can’t be choosers. He knew he wasn’t far from there, he had wanted to stay as close to where his grandparents had lived as possible. Even though it had been centuries ago that he had seen them, he still navigated like he was native. If only he could still remember the language, even then he’d probably sound ancient to everyone that surrounded him. 

It was nice being in Rome, yet it still wasn’t quite home. 

\-- -- -- 

Rome was one of the nicer places Ryan had been to for a hit. Just a mafia rat that needed to be dealt with. No one important enough to cause a war, but still high enough to cause havoc. He wasn’t a very good hider to say he was a target, his actions were very predictable. Ryan got him pretty quickly, a quick slip of something into his beer when he was looking the other way and he was gone. Slow enough to avoid suspicion, fast enough that Ryan wouldn’t be away too long. He’d barely been in his apartment before he got called for an international hit, he was lucky that the mafia work in patterns or who knows how long he would have been stuck in Italy for. He was just relieved he could go for a drink and relax tomorrow before he went back to Los Santos. 

He walked into a cosy bar, asking for a pint of Peroni before sitting in one of the armchairs. There was faint music coming from one of the other rooms there but he didn’t feel inclined to move away. It was nice to hear but be away, something more atmospheric in hearing music through a wall, as though it was being kept away from you but couldn’t stay away. 

Speaking of not being able to stay away, he saw someone eerily familiar walk through the door of the bar. He was wearing tight-fitting shorts and a Versace button up, to anyone else he looked nothing special, a rich kid with more money than he knows what to do with. To Los Santos he is renowned, the Golden Boy. The boy that could make you sign your life with a sentence, that dripped honey between his teeth and knew how to twist anything you ever said. There were rumours about him, invincible, immortal, undead. All anyone knew was the way he sweet-talked every man in the room around him, could get your head in circles before the conversation had ever started. The manipulative hacker extraordinaire. The heir to the throne of Los Santos. 

He saw Ryan within seconds, gave a small smile and went to the bar, presumably to get some cocktail as he’d had back in Madrid. He didn’t seem like the type to drink beer, much too involved with how things look than how they are. 

He sauntered over to Ryan’s table, silently asking with his eyes if he could sit. Ryan gave him a short nod, he was concerned with how old he was. He didn’t look a day over 20 and yet Ryan knew him and Ramsey had been building their empire since he was at least 25. Maybe the rumours were right, maybe they were similar to him. 

“So who are you then? News reporter? Mugger?” Was the first thing out of his mouth. It came out in a rush, not at all the sweet talk that everyone mentioned he had. There seemed to be honey in his mouth yet mothballs in his brains. 

“Not too recognisable without the mask, shame really. Don’t get the high-class service until people find out I’m a little bit messed up,” Ryan chuckled. His mask was on his belt, sitting in the corner of the chair out of sight. He unhooked it, threw it onto the small table in front of him. The iconic Vagabond mask, the mask that made him look dead behind the eyes and introduced an edge to his work.

“Huh, wasn’t expecting that when I saw you in Madrid. Thought more weapons trader, maybe even just an intimidator. Got the muscles for it,” He offhandedly commented, taking a quick gaze over Ryan’s biceps. 

“Little bit too boring for me, can’t live in Los Santos for this long without getting sick of the low-level jobs.” 

“Always nicer at the top, isn’t it?” The Golden Boy winked before taking a sip of his mint cocktail. 

\-- -- -- 

Ryan didn’t know how he felt about leaving Rome. He had stayed out that night until the bar shut in the early morning. He dropped the Golden Boy at his hotel room, he’d had a few too many mojitos than he could handle. Ryan had cut himself off after his 4th pint, not in the mood to get wasted with one of the most lethal men he had ever met. Not that it mattered mind, his life wasn’t exactly temporary. 

But still, he had looked at the stars as they were walking, he blabbed, some things Ryan had forgotten and yet he felt an intense affection. Affection was dangerous, trust was something to be earned and Ryan wasn’t sure how he felt about becoming enamoured with someone who could destroy his career and livelihood. He didn’t know what the likeliness of seeing Gavin again was, they lived in the same city and yet it was difficult to think of any situation where they could run into one another. The Fakes did their own hits, they’d have no need for Ryan, they lived on opposite sides of the city, all their territory, mind. 

As Ryan got to the airport, he wondered if he was that bothered by never speaking to Ramsey’s Boy ever again. He didn’t like the part of his brain that responded with a small yes.

\-- -- -- 

Geoff was terrified for Gavin. The last thing he’d been sent was a picture of a coffee table with a Vagabond mask laying on top of it with a smiley as the caption. Geoff hated that he wasn’t there to see if the Mad Merc was going to mess with his boy, especially knowing they were both at the other side of the world to him. 

Gavin didn’t seem scared though, he knew how to sweet-talk himself out of situations, knew how to walk the line between dumb and charming to walk away unscathed. He was more concerned about why Gavin was even with the Vagabond in the first place. 

He hoped to God that there wasn’t about to be another stray within their gang. 

\-- -- -- 

Puerto Del Carmen was too hot for June, the heat was sticking to his legs, making his shirt cling to his body in a way he had never felt before. Gavin was sat outside an Irish pub, a bottle of Stella Artois sat half-empty on the cheap metal table. Gavin never liked day drinking, always made him feel too off-kilter to be safe but when the sun was blazing onto him and the sweat was dripping off his back like rain droplets he couldn’t stand being too sober. The weather wasn’t necessarily painful, it was the humidity that was suffocating him in a way that Los Santos had never had. Maybe it was a sign to leave this place but it was too beautiful and unexplored to go so early. He had been there a few days and thought he wouldn’t be there for many more. His main plan was to see Timanfaya, he wanted to see the ashes himself, maybe eat some of the food barbequed over the volcano itself. Lanzarote was meant to be an experience, he’d had his peace in Madrid, some comfort in Rome and now he just wanted to see more. He’d already stopped by some of the cocktail bars, drank in some of the varying bars and even used the buffet at his hotel a few times yet nothing was making him feel as though he was having a fulfilling time. 

Maybe he’d been away for too long, seen too many sites at once to enjoy more. He knew it wasn’t possible, man of curiosity that he was but he felt like he was here for something more than sunshine and lager. Not a higher purpose - he’d debunked those thoughts many years ago - but still, he couldn’t fathom the pull to a tiny island. The highlight of his week was probably shopping, he was tempted by the cheap cigarettes but stayed away and focused on expanding his current clothing situation. He’d bought some things in Arrecife, not a lot to cause a substantial loss to his money but enough to fill out his suitcase for a few weeks. He knew he’d have to do laundry at some point, possibly at his next location - wherever that may be. For now, he sat back in his chair, watching people pass him by as his bottle slowly emptied. 

\-- -- -- 

Of all places to hide, his target chose a hot country filled with annoying tourists. Maybe it was cheap or somewhere that he never thought he’d been tracked to and yet here Ryan was. His target was residing in a villa in Tias, Ryan had refused to stay there. He was going to get his hit done and maybe have a little vacation. Ryan couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone away with the intention of leisure, his life lately had been international and for what? Money in his bank that sat untouched? 

Ryan was becoming the very thing he detested, money-hungry. He knew he had enough to live, probably enough to live until God wanted him dead. At this point he was hoarding, he didn’t need what he had been given but desired it anyway. He had detested people’s materialism, all this greed that manifested at the top yet he was also the top now. Feared. Hated. A man with no name and few words, his eyes were cold and a weapon always up his sleeve. A man with seemingly no morals, a man with nothing. He was what he had learned to hate. 

Before he could think too much he was near the man’s villa, a small thing with barely any pool. He saw the window open a crack and snuck in before the guy noticed something was wrong. A slit across the throat and he croaked where he had sat. A man that would surely be forgotten, passed with the tides of time - a name in passing with a few years, a name with no meaning within the next 20. 

\-- -- -- 

His next day in Puerto del Carmen, Gavin decided a cafe was more ideal than a pub. When he got back to his hotel the day before he had barely needed to turn over before he was nearly dead. Today was for coffee and food, maybe Geoff would be happy to see him get a bit plumper considering he was so scrawny all the time. It was a good deception though, make them think you’re the weakest before they have a blade against their throat and they’re pleading for their life. 

Gavin struggled to see anything of interest today, all the tourists were blending together in a mix of polo shirts and swim shorts. Some were wearing novelty sunglasses, there were children with sparkly fake tattoos and all Gavin did was sip on his latte. Something felt expectant but it was a ridiculous feeling. The chances of seeing the Vagabond again were slim to none, twice in a row in 2 separate countries was already a lot, a third time would either mean he’s being followed or there’s some sort of fate at work. Fate was always ridiculous to him, he grew up learning about the morai and them crafting the tapestry that destined a person to a certain life. When he didn’t die the first time he had wondered about the tapestry, this larger than life idea that he was destined for bigger things. And yet here he stood, in the 21st century with no plan. This tapestry was never-ending and it seemed like as the morai had faded into a mere idea, he had forgotten to be cut. Here he was breathing with no idea why. 

Well, until he saw who was looking at him. This fate denial he had burning inside him, it was becoming more palpable every time he seemed to turn around. 

\-- -- -- 

“You’re stalking me,” Ryan said. His voice was plain, near teasing. The Golden Boy looked shocked that those were the first words out of his mouth. 

“Be a shit stalker, don’t even know your name.” 

“World-renowned hacker, that’s been hunted by the FBI can’t even find out my name?” 

“Where’s the fun when you seem to pop up wherever I am anyway?” He giggled. He took another sip of his latte, eyeing up the seat next to him, an invitation to sit with him. 

Ryan took the seat, he’d order later, for now, he wanted to talk. Let the clouds rush against the sky and welcome the darkness of night as their voices muted against the sound of the insects coming out in the night. A fantasy that he didn’t welcome. 

“My name’s Ryan,” He muttered. 

“I’m Gavin.”   
Whether the names were real or fake it didn’t matter. It was a step, a step into what neither knew. All Ryan knew was that that day one of his fantasies had become true. 

\-- -- -- 

Their little goose chase ended in London. Gavin had booked a hotel in Kensington, a lovely little place that he had been to a lot as London grew and grew. The hotel pool wasn’t heated on account that it was very warm outside. He had needed new swimming shorts but now Gavin could at least get away with jeans he’d packed in case of emergency. Gavin was British through and through, yes British weather was stubborn but Gavin was too. 

It wasn’t humid in London, just hot. The air wasn’t sticky, it didn’t even feel like it was there. There were all sorts of sights, he saw a woman ironing outside in the sunshine with BBC Radio 2 on full, there were barbecues in Hyde Park and this weird thrill in their air at the idea of warmth. 

He should be used to the sun, the way he tanned anywhere and everywhere to keep his skin on the fairer side of golden. In England it was different though, it didn’t seem rare for these warm summers to occur yet every time they felt like a new thing, no matter where you were from in the world. The pubs were packed and anywhere and everywhere had become a spot to drink. In true fashion, Saturday sunshine had lead to cans and bottles littering the border of the Thames. He wasn’t sure what to do in London, everything seemed so old and unchanged constantly. All the Victorian architecture towered over him at every corner and Gavin could do nothing but reminisce on the old bakery on the corner by his hotel where the owner would give him a small cake in exchange for help for the day. Gavin wanted to know how he died, wanted to see the reasons for his old life collapsing around him. Maybe find a grave, pay respects to the man that had taught him how to treat his elders. 

The memory of the old man who had taught him kindness filled him with sadness, he couldn’t wait for night to fall and go to one of the old bars he frequented in the 20th century. He needed a friend and yet here he was in a huge city with seemingly nothing but the bittersweet past to remind him what the fates have condemned him to. 

\-- -- -- 

Ryan hated London. Hated the way the buildings imposed over everyone, hated the way that everyone was so stuck up at the thought of a ‘yank’ in their territory. He’d already had a few people scoff at his voice, his accent was this amalgamation of cities that were lost and the early development of America. He was undoubtedly from the south, a deep drawl that even Brits knew indicated some bible loving state or another. Something not yet lost to the passages of time. 

For once, Ryan wasn’t travelling on a hit. He was there to visit, see the museums and make fun of all the stolen history that was being hoarded in them. He wanted to see Parliament, Westminster Abbey and see all the rich history that was to be offered. He’d found a small hotel in Fulham that was good enough for him. A Premier Inn that was clean enough to sleep in for a few days. No extravagance, just a high street location that was a 5-minute walk from McDonald’s. 

He knew he’d go to Kensington tomorrow, start off at the Natural History Museum and see if there was anything else in the area. Right now, all he needed was rest.   
\-- -- -- 

They met again at an upscale club. Gavin was dancing on a table with some electric blue cocktail, there were men throwing bills at him as Stormzy played in the background. He was just wanting to unravel, a city that he called home was the best place to let himself loose. Maybe he’d go with someone tonight, back to his hotel room. He wanted someone to just pin him down while he was off his face. He wanted coke, he wanted a high and he wanted the orgasm of his life. He knew it was trashy to devolve your life into so little but he was having fun, allowing himself the pleasure to unwind in the cocktail of ecstasy he desired. 

Ryan came in when Gavin stopped dancing. He saw the scrawny Brit and just smiled. He didn’t know where this infatuation started but seeing Gavin nearly slip off a table to get to him made his heart full in a way he hadn’t feel forever - an emotion he couldn’t even remember having at any point. 

Eventually, Gavin got onto the barstool next to him, his eyes were slightly red, from what Ryan didn’t want to know the answer to. He sat there sipping on whatever sweet drink he’d ordered while Ryan opted for lager. He’d probably end up on liquor later but for now, he knew it was best to start slow. Gavin was giggling, Ryan was wondering how much he’d had already. Considering it was 10 pm, it could have been a lot. He liked Gavin’s laugh, his body shook when he giggled, his eyes crinkled at the edge and his hand instinctively shot over his face. It shouldn’t be endearing yet seeing someone drunk laughing at a bar for no other reason than he could made Ryan unreasonably happy.

Eventually, the drinks went down, Gavin tugged on Ryan’s arm towards the dance floor and Ryan was nearly refusing until he saw the hungry eyes on Gavin. These people that wanted their chance made him near rage with possessiveness, a man he barely knew and yet all he wanted was to show that he had staked his claim already. 

It got dark and sweaty, Gavin writhed against him, hips moving slowly, head on his shoulder. He gasped into Ryan’s neck a while in, maybe it was getting too intense but all Ryan could do was run his hand over Gavin’s neck, light pressure at the base of the neck and Gavin seemed gone. Gone in what was a question Ryan didn’t want to answer. 

All Ryan knew was that one minute they were dancing and the next they were in Gavin’s room. His head shoved into a pillow, crying, moaning, pleading for more. Gavin’s shirt was ripped open but he didn’t care. All he knew was that he felt full and wanted and so blissed out that nothing else was important at that moment but him and Ryan. 

\-- -- -- 

  
The story ends in Los Santos. Their hook up had gotten them each other’s phone numbers, their departure back to their home had made them both sad. It was a trip separated from one another for once. One that they knew they wouldn’t be able to run into each other for a few more days while Ryan got the most out of being on vacation. 

Geoff nearly screamed when Gavin walked back into the penthouse. The months had blurred into an incomprehensible amount of time and when Geoff had told him he’d been gone nearly 2 months Gavin struggled to believe him. He cried, not that the crew needed to know that and confessed he didn’t think Gavin was coming back. Gavin just laughed awkwardly and hugged him. He knew Geoff would be worried but he forgot how much like his dad he was sometimes. 

Michael. Michael didn’t do much. He walked in and saw Gavin’s stuff and asked about Mario Party Later. 

Jack just put on some coffee for him and brought it over to him. She lay a secret kiss on his cheek and threatened to castrate him if he disappeared like that again. 

Jeremy just nodded at him, the best he could’ve got from someone who had only known him weeks before he left. 

The crew wasn’t quite whole, at least now it was patched. 

\-- -- -- 

The next time Ryan and Gavin saw each other they were on Los Santos’ pier. Ryan’s motorcycle was stood up somewhere a few feet away from them while they lay under the stars together. A surprise meeting sprung on Gavin 20 minutes ago. 

“You believe in fate after all this?” Gavin asked. 

“No, I do believe something was trying to tell us to get our shit together though,” Ryan murmured. Gavin’s head was on Ryan’s chest, Ryan’s arm around the back of their neck as all they did was look into the night sky. 

“That’s the same thing you dope!” Gavin cackled.   
The conversation devolved into bickering, by the end it was kissing. These people who defied fate then followed it, these people who felt as though life was out to get them and got rewarded. Two men with their hearts in their hands and their feelings on their breath, their voices in the wind as they silently whisper of love. 

Their story has ended, their romance has started. Their life is nothing but a journey. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. All kudos and comments are appreciated! 
> 
> The title is from the song Travellin' Man by Dead Poet Society.


End file.
